Ferrus Manus opened the door, and the door handle engraved with the double-headed eagle did not feel the warmth in his hand for a moment. His movements were clean and sharp, as fast as swinging a sword.
Fulgrim appeared in front of him, his face anxious.
"What happened?" Ferus asked calmly.
"Where's Conrad?"
The Iron Hand turned sideways so that Fulgrim could see Konrad Curze. The latter was holding a knife with a hesitant expression: "Fulcan? What's wrong?"
"Come quickly, Conrad - Ferus, you too, come with me quickly. Rogge has already gone."
Fulgrim turned around in a hurry, his long silver hair flying in the grand corridor of the Emperor's Dream, the golden details reflecting the tiny light, and no one cared about his appearance now.
Even if it's himself.
Ferus frowned and turned around so that Conrad Curze could head out the door before him. The latter nodded to him gratefully and walked out quickly. Iron Hands quickly closed the door and caught up with his brothers.
With the exception of Konrad Curze, the other demigods already knew their father's flagship very well.
Fulgrim can say without exaggeration that there is no ship in the Empire today that can be compared to the Emperor's Dream. No ship can stand up to this comparison, even in the smallest detail.
But precisely because of this, their schedule was stretched to an unbearably anxious time. The reason was simply that the Emperor's Dream was too big.
"What happened?"
Ferus asked in a low voice. "Where is Rogge? Could it be Luo Jia again?"
"No, no, this matter has nothing to do with Luojia - it's my father, Ferus!"
"What happened to father?"
Fulgrim turned his head and glanced at Konrad Curze quickly before speaking in a low voice: "...It's the Imperial Guards. They are going to Nostramo in full force."
The pale giant suddenly stopped.
"Conrad?" Ferus asked next.
However, his brother paid no attention.
Conrad Coates' eyes widened and his hair stood on end. The familiar coldness and trembling returned at this moment, breaking every part of his perception and trapping him in place with the most terrifying nightmare.
The passage of time slowed down silently. He had already used an image to erect an unbreakable wall with his own reason to keep out all the monsters and monsters. However, at this moment, they climbed over it. .
"He couldn't escape."
In the darkness, a deep voice sounded, and the smell of blood was extremely pungent.
Conrad Coates stood there blankly, no matter how his brothers shouted and shook, they were indifferent.
His right hand held the sharp blade tightly, so hard that the gems inlaid on the handle began to creak.
"He is killing...he is winning...he is thirsty for burning rage!"
The voice suddenly roared. "Killing will bring victory, only killing can bring victory, no one is exempt! Even a betrayer must accept it!"
The blades rub and collide. The warriors in golden armor roared in unison, shouted unwillingly before death, beat the war drums, howled, and blew the shrill horns. The yellow sand soaked in blood turned into dark red and was blown by the storm...
Then comes the rain.
Rain of blood.
It descended crazily from the dark sky of Nostramo, dyeing everything red, dyeing the yellow sand that should not have appeared, and letting blood soak the earth.
A figure walked out of the rain curtain, with a pale face and scarlet eyes.
Good evening, Ghost. He grinned.
"No--!"
Konrad Curze roared and fell to the ground, the sharp blade in his right hand shining brightly at this moment. Cold and cold, it fit into his palm, making the wall of reason rise again.
The darkness faded away, but the fear remained. He was panting heavily and shaking on the ground.
"Conrad!"
Fulgrim grabbed him by the shoulders, hard enough to hurt.
The voice of the Chemos resounded throughout the corridor at this moment: "Calm down!"
Ferrus Manus narrowed his eyes and looked at the sharp blade in silence. After a while, he stretched out his right hand towards Konrad Coates.
"stand up."
He spoke sternly. "Conrad, I don't know what happened just now, and I don't know what you want to do, but no matter what you want to do, you have to stand up."
Yeah...I have to stand up.
Gritting his teeth, Konrad Coates stood up little by little. His muscles were still spasming and his body ached, but it couldn't stop his will.
All on his own, he stood up. The sharp blade in his right hand turned into a shadow and disappeared from his cuff in the next second. The technique was so weird that neither Fulgrim nor Ferrus Manus could see the specific details.
"I must go see him...immediately," he said lowly.
Fulgrim was silent for a moment and nodded.
"Follow me," he said seriously. "There are Stormhawks stationed at the Emperor's Children. I will ask Akudona to take you down."
"Thank you——"
"—Don't thank me, Conrad."
Fulgrim took a deep breath and made no apology for interrupting Curze. He just stared into his brother's dark eyes and spoke the last words slowly.
"Promise me you'll be okay."
"......I promise."
"Say it again."
"I promise."
"Very well, follow me - Ferus, you go first, father is in the study."
Iron Hand nodded slowly and watched them go away.
------------------
Khalil clenched his right hand and let a head turn into powder of blood and flesh in his palm. Screams came from behind him, and someone screamed and ran away, but in the direction of his escape, bullets were still pouring towards him.
Sentry Trooper - a type of iron golem, the lowest of the low, from Prime...
The shell is hard, but not hard enough.
Khalil turned around, leaned down, and glided across the ground like a hunting eagle.
Bullets whizzed past him, none of them hitting. In just half a second, he crossed a distance of hundreds of meters and dismantled six sentry robots with his hands.
They were smoking, and the circuits inside were completely damaged. The chandelier overhead swayed, casting mottled shadows on the ground. Khalil closed his eyes and slowly moved his shoulders.
He no longer needed to troubleshoot the pain in his shoulder this way, it was just that old habits die hard.
not enough.
He opened his eyes - not enough, not nearly enough.
He's killed a lot, but not enough...why not enough?
Why...not enough?
He has no answer.
Lowering his head, Khalil glanced at his hands. The flesh and blood are sticky on it, as conspicuous as a glove with uneven thickness. Bone stubble was mixed with flesh and blood, making his hands look extremely ferocious.
Evidence of killing.
Take a deep breath.
He started running again, running through the narrow streets, breaking through the rain curtain, and the solidified blood dripped down his wrist - half a minute later, the touch of fresh and warm flesh and blood warmed his hand again.
"Hoo..."
A painful gasp came from under his feet. Khalil looked at him indifferently, the ends of the fingers on his right hand trembling slightly.
A heart was resting in his palm. Its owner fell to his knees, a painful and thin sound coming from his throat. He looked pleadingly at the giant standing before him, but Khalil was just indifferent.
He watched him die - a painful death, completely unaware of the subtle differences.
How many?
How many is this?
He dropped his heart and slowly breathed in the moist and smelly air. The hint he had set for himself was effective after all - a number began to emerge in his heart.
Eighty-eight.
...The eighty-eighth gang, yes, but, how many people have I killed? Five hundred, six hundred, a thousand...the number of gangs increases or decreases...
How many people have I killed?
Standing in the rain, Khalil found that he couldn't answer this question.
He lost track of numbers and sequences, which is so rare that it shouldn't even happen. But Khalil didn't notice anything was wrong - just like he didn't notice every detail before.
He was still cautious, but compared with what he faced, any caution was not enough.
In the rain, he turned around. The tall body stood on the narrow street like another silent spire, but he did not start walking immediately.
Khalil narrowed his eyes.
"...You shouldn't be here," he said slowly.
"The Lord's order." A low and hoarse voice answered his question in the darkness.
His voice was strange and distorted. It was not a sound that a human should make, and was even close to some kind of monster. However, Khalil keenly captured the true meaning beneath this disguise, and he frowned.
"Constantine Waldo..."
As his voice fell, a giant wearing golden armor slowly walked out of the darkness. The fluttering eagle glared ferociously from the pauldrons, and the armor buzzed.
"Yes." He nodded. "it's me."
"...why?"
"You can't go on any longer, Khalil Lohars. You're not just fighting these scum."
Constantine spoke slowly and seriously: "You are still fighting something that you cannot understand yet. It has no entity and no shape, but it can really hurt you..."
"I haven't seen a monster matching your description in his database - besides, this is Nostramo."
Khalil frowned: "There is only one kind of monster on Nostramo."
Constantine shook his head slowly, and then began to admonish sincerely. "There is no knowledge of them in the database..."
"They are not meant to be spoken of, only buried...Hold it, Khalil Lohars. The Auxiliaries, the Astartes, and even us will surrender to the Nosters if you wish. You don’t have to kill Ramo anymore.”
"If this is what he means, why did he send you?"
Khalil slowly clenched his fists.
"He can talk to me directly, can't he?"
"He can't now, Khalil Lohars..."
The Marshal of the Forbidden Army slowly grasped a long sword at his waist and pulled it out of its scabbard. Cold light burst out briefly, and in the surrounding darkness, more golden shadows were surrounding this narrow street.
"Why not?" Khalil asked curtly. "There's no way he can't even do this, his ship is right above Nostramo...unless..."
He exhaled a thick breath.
"Unless what?" the Marshal of the Forbidden Army asked softly.
"Illusion," Khalil replied in the same soft voice. "Thank you for talking to me, the monster who pretended to be Constantine...otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to realize what I just did."
He raised his hands, looked at the scarlet and ferocious hands with disgust, and slowly shook his head.
The Marshal of the Imperial Guard inevitably let out a slight sigh.
"My lord, it is true that he never makes mistakes, even his speculations are the same."
He raised the sword, acid rain dripped on the armor, and was immediately evaporated. "They always find a way to take advantage of it."
"I'm sending those same words back to you."
"It's no use talking more."
Standing opposite Khalil, Constantine Valdor tightened his grip on his power sword.
"Come on." The Marshal of the Forbidden Army narrowed his eyes. "Come and fight, Khalil Lohars, you must wake up."
Facing his words, Khalil just chuckled, and there was a flash of dark red in his dark eyes.
